In the End
by Tavaril Lasgalen
Summary: Modern AU. There are monsters enough among humankind and the elves have had their work cut out for them helping the good conquer them. They've been repaid with suspicion and the FBI, CIA, and other agencies looking into them, but life's been pretty good. Until alarming signs begin to appear, people vanish off the streets, and a strange disease begins infecting Important Persons.
1. Prologue

_Hey, guys! Remember me? No? Dang. Anyways, I'm back, and with a new story in tow. Modern LOTR fics have always had a special place in my heart, so I decided to try one of my own. Updates will probably be every week/two weeks. I'm busy with a book I'm trying to finish to publish, so this is more of a fun escape from that than anything. Hopefully, you'll like it though!_

_And for those of you who remember 'Vicissitudes'… There won't be any more updates to that. My writing style's changed since then and I completely forgot where I was going with it._

**Disclaimer: **_None of the characters you recognize are mine. They all belong to that bloke who wrote them books about those hobbit things. Top lad. The OCs, however, do belong to me._

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**Prologue**

The silence is unnerving.

Such a street as this, especially in the great metropolis of New York, is meant to be bustling with crowds of humanity, regardless the hour. Lights are supposed to be ablaze, drowning out the stars. There ought to be unending noise.

Instead, it's desolate. Deserted. Black.

And completely and utterly void of sound.

Legolas reloads his silenced sniper rifle, pressing his back against the cold, brick wall. He clenches his teeth as new bolts of agony shoot from his side. He doesn't have to look to see that his white dress shirt is far more red than white by now. Not even Hiro will be able to get this stain out.

The stench of acrid smoke assaults his nose, and he tries not to breath.

There.

A scream.

His grip on the gun tightens. He takes a grenade from his belt, playing with the pin.

The earth groans as harsh, heavy footsteps pound against it, and Legolas winces at the Black Speech spoken fifty stories below.

A wind picks up suddenly, threatening to send him tumbling down from his perch. He secures his footing, and smiles grimly at Elladan. "Looks like you won that bet, mellon-nin."

Elladan doesn't respond. Legolas hadn't really expected him too.

But then, after all this, he wouldn't be too surprised if corpses start talking.

His iPhone buzzes in the pocket of his suit jacket. He'd forgotten about it being there. He checks it. New text from Radagast.

_It's all set, princeling. Now get out of there before the city goes nuclear._

"As you wish," he mumbles, tucking the phone back into his pocket.

Taking one last glance at Elladan's blood covered body, Legolas pushes off the wall onto his feet. His right leg gives way under his weight, and he falls, falls, falls.

He can't help laughing. His phone buzzes again and Legolas doesn't need to read it to know that the new text is: _Not that way!_

But the eagles come; they always do at moments like these, although Legolas has come to think of them more of heralds of doom than saviors by now.

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_A penny for your thoughts?_


	2. Chapter One

_Oh, wow! This got a much better reception than I was thinking it was going to. Thank you so very much for reviewing, will Zona, Meepalicious, Balrog Herder (Good luck with that!), and The Pearl Maiden. Hopefully you'll enjoy the chapter! We'll get to see Leggy in the next one, probably._

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**Chapter One**

_Several weeks before..._

The volume is turned all the way up, but contrary to what one would believe, Elladan and Elrohir are not currently wincing in pain, but are intently focused on the bright screen in front of them where all sorts of mayhem is occurring. They've adjusted to it, although Elrohir was the one to first follow the trend among mortals of turning one's music up so as to better appreciate it and to block out life. It annoyed Elladan which in turn amused him which made all of the household wary, lest another inventive prank war start and they be unwittedly drawn into it. Elladan grew to like it, but Legolas just didn't understand that, especially considering their music tastes.

"Screamer, metal, rap, hard rock? It's a wonder that your ear drums are still intact!" He said.

Elrohir laughed at him, told him that he couldn't deny that the lyrics tended to be good. Legolas said that he's heard more than enough screaming in his day to enjoy it and that he would keep his movie soundtracks and classical, thank you _very_ much. Then, he'd brightly asked if they had the latest Call of Duty game and proceeded to carry out the missions in a most reckless and violent manner, grinning like a maniac. Mirkwood elves. The hypocrites.

But Legolas isn't here now, leaving it up to Elrohir to find the most inventive ways to do his task. Elladan's sticking to the rules and refusing to use any cheats, the bore.

"Haaaystack, I love you!"

"He sees a feather..."

"Ooh, I love feathers!"

"Watch it, Ro, you're going to be dead if you keep that up."

"Pfft. A trained assassin controlled by an elf? Never. _They_ are the dead ones."

But Elrohir does indeed die. He settles for watching his brother play. Elladan smirks, mutters a "Should have listened to me", but doesn't gloat further, to Elrohir's gratitude. Neither of them look up when they hear soft footsteps enter the room.

"Valar. Still at it?" Celebrian's voice is soft, but rather tense.

Elrohir nods cheerfully. "Mhm!" He turns his head to look at his mother. She's smiling, but it's tight and her eyes don't match it. "What is it?"

Elladan puts the game on pause, shifting to look at her too. Celebrian sighs and comes over to sit next to him on the couch, glancing at the screen and smoothing out her silk tunic. Elrohir straightens, brow furrowing, movements matched by Elladan. Celebrian smiles again, and it looks a bit more genuine. "Don't worry. I do not bring bad news. That is Mithrandir's task."

"Good, because Storm Crow is a far more fitting title for him and his brooding eyebrows than you, Mother," Elrohir says.

"If the news isn't bad, why do you look so unhappy?" Elladan asks.

"I am not unhappy," she corrects. "I merely… am not sure what to think. When did you last see one of the Maiar?"

The twins exchange a look. Elladan answers, raising an eyebrow, "In the fifteenth century, one of the blue wizards. Before that, there was Mithrandir in the twelve hundreds."

Elrohir tilts his head. "Has one of them shown themselves?"

"Yes. That is not what's strange, however. It's _who_ it is that is." Celebrian runs a finger along the leaf of one of the indoor plants. Her eyes are pensive. "It's Radagast."

Elrohir's eyes widen and he stares at her. "Radagast? But he sailed when Mortals started making technological advances and when it was clear that he alone could not keep them from impugning upon Nature, saying his work was done after ensuring others would see to it. Why would he come back? The pollution's only gotten worse."

"Maybe he realized that he acted in haste and that all is not as lost as he had believed?" Celebrian suggests gently.

"Maybe," Elladan muses.

"Could be. He sailed, Saruman was killed, Mithrandir sailed, the blue wizards sailed-"

"Mm. I wouldn't count on that." Elladan says.

Elrohir and Celebrian look at him. Elrohir raises an eyebrow. "Hm?"

"We can't say for sure that the blue wizards sailed. There were reports of them going to the Havens, and then nothing after that, but that doesn't mean that they sailed."

Celebrian presses her lips together. "I did hope that they had."

Elrohir grimaces. So had he. Just like Saruman, the blue wizards had turned, using their power for evil rather than good. Legolas knew more of them than they for the lands that the Istari had focused on where those of Rhun and surrounding areas, including Mirkwood.

With the shifts in the face of the earth, Mirkwood is no more, but the land where it was is Russia and the most war-torn countries. The Shire would be in England, and their Imladris in Wales (or was it Austria?), before it was destroyed. They made a new home here in Australia, just as beautiful, but it does not have the weight of memories Imladris did.

"One can hope," he says, making a mental note to contact Legolas. "But if not, perhaps they are up to no good, again, and Ragadast returned to keep them from using nature for ill. In which case, I imagine Mithrandir has returned as well."

"Perhaps." Elladan glances at the screen where Altair is frozen in motion, then to their mother. "Has anyone spoken with him yet?"

Celebrian shakes her head. "We have only received the news from the trees that are yet awake and the animals. Your father wishes for you two to find him."

Elrohir blows out a breath, eyebrows raised. "Oh, fun! It's been ages since we've had to search for an Istari! Let's hope this one _wants_ to be found."

Elladan winces in memory. "Indeed. Else it will be years of arriving where he was months afterwards and tracing the barest of hints."

Celebrian pats his arm and smiles. "Radagast was always least likely to play those games. I have faith that it will not take long to locate him."

"That is well, Mother, for I do not." Elrohir sighs. "Did Father say when he wants us to leave?"

"Tomorrow morning." Celebrian gets up and kisses both of them on top of their heads. Elrohir closes his eyes, not bothering protesting being treated like an elfling. It was a shock when Elrond returned from the Undying Lands with their mother, whole and well. The last they had seen her before she sailed, she had been haunted by the memory of her time with the orcs and fading. They'd thought she was going to die. Every moment with her is a blessing.

He hugs her tightly before she can draw away, breathing in the smell of her perfume. She returns it, resting her cheek on top of his head. Elrohir hears Elladan shift and join in the hug.

"Ah, my sons." She whispers. "Stay safe. I would hate for anything to happen to you."

"You know we will, Mother." Elrohir says quietly.

"We'll try our best," Elladan says, always making sure not to make promises he's not sure that they'll be able to keep.

* * *

Concrit is like chocolate. Delicious and wonderful help while writing.


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